2005
The unreliable narrator flirts with losing interest

So much of what you say in your nearly nightly drunken diatribes is such a waste of time that it surprises me when even this blind pig turns up an acorn now and then. You’re not dead on, but you could be close enough. I never will stop loving you – as you insist I did a year ago, and if I’d had an acorn’s worth of sense, I would have – but I do find my attention wandering. Your paranoia was riveting at first, and the way you see yourself as larger than life used to make me laugh, but I’ve heard it all too many times by now, and I must admit I’m growing restless. Congratulations, by the way. It’s no small feat to bore me. And I suppose you don’t need T.S. Eliot to know which way the world ends.